


Rabbits

by scrubclub



Series: AryaxGendry Week 2018 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Future Fic, Light Angst, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 12:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrubclub/pseuds/scrubclub
Summary: Written for AryaxGendry Week Day 1: "Eye Contact"A simple & short fic featuring Gendry, a thief, and some (dead) rabbits.





	Rabbits

**Author's Note:**

> This is one way that I can imagine a Bookverse reunion taking place. Set a little ways into the future.

Winter has its drawbacks in the woods. Game becomes scarce. Crops disappear, and the cellars stores are always emptied sooner than anyone hopes. Firewood needs to be sheltered carefully to prevent it from becoming wet with snow. Cold demands fire, and smoke attracts attention. Days are short and dark and during the storms, there are whispers in every swell of wind and snowflake. Some days there is silence. Winter can be good for silence. 

He was returning to the inn, a rabbit and a half to show for his trek. The half-rabbit had a bite taken out of it, from a fox, perhaps, or a wolf, but Gendry was not in a position to walk away from good meat. The animal could have made off with the whole rabbit and was surely disrupted mid-meal. He was thankful for what it had left. He knew it would not be enough. 

The Brotherhood had taken to staying at the inn more frequently, many of the men remaining for weeks at a time. The increased presence of Brotherhood men meant that the inn and its orphans were better protected. It also meant more mouths to feed, and the traps were turning up fewer and fewer animals. Lannisters and Freys, at least, had become as scarce as game these days. It was cold and quiet in the woods surrounding the inn, as if the world had paused, waiting for the winter to pass before the fighting carried on. The Lady was never far, Gendry knew, patiently awaiting justice for any enemy who crossed her path. 

Justice. Was it justice? He had been angry at first, ready to exact revenge on anyone who had been at the Twins, anyone who might have hurt her. It had felt simple. Her mother, revived by a kiss and driven to carry out revenge - the closest thing he could find to a purpose. But years passed and he grew weary. The deaths of wandering Freys felt more and more meaningless, almost cruel. The hurt in him was warm - a jape about moss growing out of ears, a shared rabbit along a long road, a promise and a secret kept - and death was cold. 

He shivered as he continued his path to the inn. It was still early. Dawn lingered and cast a dim light through the trees. The only sounds were his snow-cushioned footsteps and his shallow breath, visible before him in the cold. Today was a silent day.

-

She watched the man from a distance at first. He was tall and broad, bundled in furs from head to toe. As the forest grew more wild, she moved closer. The terrain was on her side - he chose a lower path, allowing her to follow on his left from slightly higher ground, hidden by thickets of snowy bushes. 

A fight wouldn’t be necessary, she hoped. He was bigger than her and carried a large hammer on his back - she was better off taking what she needed and running. She figured it was fair. It had been her wolf who had herded the rabbit into the trap, she was only taking back her catch. Plus, he was huge - she needed it more than he did. A nagging voice at the back of her brain told her that he may have a family to feed. For a moment, a pang of guilt masked the desperate emptiness in her stomach. Crack.

She froze, mentally cursing the brief concern that had distracted her, as well as the broken twig under her foot. He had frozen too, turning in her direction, but seemingly seeing nothing. Most of his face was covered for warmth and his hood was up, making it harder to see where his eyes were looking. She adjusted the cloth covering her own face and waited until he turned his head slightly before she jumped. 

-

The shape flung itself at him, hitting him square in the chest. He fell backwards, his attacker briefly pinning him before scampering off of his chest towards his rabbits. Gendry reached out desperately and grabbed the boy by his cloak - the thief was too short to be a man grown. He hauled the thief down and reached for his dirk. His opponent was quicker, though, pulling his own dagger and hacking at the cloak to free himself. As he made to stand, Gendry reached out once more and caught an ankle, pulling the boy down again. 

His attacker was hooded, his face hidden by a cloth, his eyes obscured by unkempt strands of brown hair. Before Gendry could restrain the thief’s arms properly, a fist - harder than he had expected - came into contact with his face and he cried out as he felt his lip slice open against his teeth. His attacker used this as an opportunity to flip them, attempting to pin Gendry. This wouldn’t have lasted long, Gendry knew, but he froze as the thief sat on his torso, pulling another dagger on him.

The thief’s hood had slid off as they had flipped, and her hair now fell free, moving slightly with the subtle wind. The thief was a girl.

-

His sound of surprise was muffled, obscured by his protective face covering and, no doubt, by the blood stain that was forming upon it. She was glad to know that her punch had hit its mark. She took his moment of shock as an opportunity to stand up and pull her sword on him. She kept it pointed at him as she resheathed one dagger and glanced around for the other that she had lost in the scuffle. He didn’t move, but seemed to be watching her curiously from beneath his hood. 

She located her fallen weapon and edged towards it, never moving her sword far from his neck. Bending down quickly, she sheathed it in her boot, and moved again to stand over him. 

-

“Frey?” She asked, unflinching despite the hair falling across her eyes. He shook his head. “Bolton?” 

“No,” He replied. Her sword was skinny, a child’s blade. He thought of a similar blade lost many years ago, and then of a rabbit shared between almost-friends. “You can take it. The one that’s half eaten. You look like you need it.” He hoped that she could understand him through his furs and the blood in his mouth. She looked at him for a moment longer, as if gauging to see if he was serious, before running to the rabbits.

Gendry took this opportunity to stand, grimacing in pain. Falling backwards onto a hammer was not a comfortable activity, nor was bleeding from the mouth. He lowered his furs and spat, an ugly blotch of red appearing on the snow. He turned to find her sword pointed at his chest. She held the whole rabbit in her right hand and flung it past him, far over his shoulder. He would have to retrieve it and she would flee. He almost laughed - she was clever. 

She watched him through her hair, waiting for him to turn his back. A part of him wanted to offer to take her back to the inn, where it would be warm, but he hesitated. They didn’t need an extra mouth to feed, and this girl seemed to be running - whether to or from something, he could not tell. 

The sound of hooves pulled him out of his internal debate. There were voices too, getting closer. Too many to be the Brotherhood. They needed to hide.

-

The sound of approaching men caught her off guard and in that second of frozen fear, her opponent launched himself at her, lifting her over his shoulder and propelling them into the bushes. Her shoulder was digging into a sharp rock on the forest ground and the cloth protecting her face had been shifted, exposing her cheeks to the sharp air. Needle skittered a few feet away from her as they landed, her opponent’s huge figure holding her down. She looked to the sword, the one thing she could not lose, not again, and opened her mouth to protest. Without looking at her, he covered her mouth with his hand before her words formed. The horses were slowing.

“What’s this?” A man’s voice asked, sounding only feet away. The man on top of her was holding his breath. 

“Blood,” A new, gruffer voice said. She could feel his heartbeat increase through all of the furs that lay between them. “Someone nearby?”

“A rabbit!” A third voice exclaimed. “It’s dead!” The bloody spit was seemingly forgotten as the men collected their prize. Many loud voices spoke excitedly of returning to their lord with something to show from a hunt. She had no idea what lord they might be returning to, and she was happier for it. The voices and the sound of hooves faded and her captor slowly removed his hand from her face. She wanted to tell him to get off of her and she wanted to apologize for losing his rabbit and she wanted to get to Needle. She looked up at him and every word died in her throat. His face had changed, older and bearded and bleeding, but his eyes had not.

-

He was listening, staring in the direction the men had left, wanting to be sure that they were safe to move. Her sharp intake of breath stirred him and he looked down at her. Her hair had been swept from her eyes and her face was no longer hidden. Her lips were parted in shock and her cheeks were pink from the cold, but it was her eyes that made his chest tighten and his breath catch. Grey, sad and hers.


End file.
